


Swipe Right for Soulmates

by SapphicScholar



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, RIVAL CEO AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22102030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphicScholar/pseuds/SapphicScholar
Summary: For years, Cat Grant’s soulmate-finding service, Lighthouse, has dominated the market, but when a new app launches, Cat finds herself with competition and a rival CEO who takes her by surprise in more ways than one.
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Cat Grant
Comments: 33
Kudos: 639





	Swipe Right for Soulmates

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I generally hate soulmate AUs (yes, I’m the grinch) and capitalism, but then this idea for a soulmate/rival tech CEO AU came to me and wouldn’t leave me alone, so here we are!
> 
> (Also, heads up, for those who cannot see part of their OTP with someone else, briefly in the first section there are descriptions of another Cat pairing, but the story obviously ends with Supercat)

Cat’s head fell back against the pillows, her hair fanning out around her as she tried to get her breathing back under control.

A moment later, Olivia crawled back up the bed, curling herself around Cat and slinging an arm across her waist.

They should get up, Cat knew. Just because classes had ended for the term didn’t mean they were free; there were still those dreaded finals to prepare for, though at least they provided Cat with adequate justification for staying away from her mother for another week before she had to go home for the holidays.

Cat’s fingers trailed up from Olivia’s wrists, along surprisingly strong arms, over her shoulders and down, following the dip in her waist, before curling back up again. It was on Cat’s second or third pass along a body she’d gotten to know more than a little well over the past few years that Cat found herself tripping over the curling black letters she’d seen often enough but never let herself truly _notice_. “Michael.”

“Do you ever…wonder?” Cat asked, proud of the way her voice held steady.

Olivia looked her straight in the eyes, holding her gaze. “Not particularly. I was being honest that first night we talked about soulmates: I get it, but I’m not about to kill myself looking for some generic Michael who could be anywhere when I have dreams to chase.” After a moment, her mouth quirked up into a teasing grin. “Maybe when I’m president I can hire someone to track the guy down for me.”

And suddenly the inchoate thoughts that had been swirling around Cat’s head for months and months resolved themselves into the glimmer of an idea so perfect she felt her heart pound in triple-time. “A website…a website where you find your soulmate, Liv!”

Olivia’s eyebrows drew together. “Hmm?”

“Michael: it’s a common name. Olivia isn’t that much better. But what are the odds of having thousands of Michaels who have a soulmate named Olivia? Or thousands of Olivias with a soulmate named Michael?”

“Probably lower…but not everyone is advertising that information, Cat.”

“Exactly! But they could be if it were on the Internet. And then…then there’s the whole age thing. But if you included birth days…and then one of those computer geeks could write up something…” Cat’s once-still fingers now drummed an almost painfully fast beat against Olivia’s ribs. “Add in something for safety because people can lie. A way to send messages maybe…like e-mail, but without having to share your account name.”

Olivia, finally catching on to what it was Cat was rambling about, smiled over at her. “Sounds like a surefire way to be a millionaire.”

Cat sniffed, looking much too regal for someone who’d been panting incomprehensible pleas into her pillow only a few minutes earlier. “Someone should be able to profit off all those sad singles desperately searching for their soulmates, and why not me? Why leave it to Disney and Hallmark and all their damn sappy movies?”

“And luckily you’re just the romantic to do it, huh?” Olivia teased, nudging Cat gently with her shoulder.

But Cat knew Olivia would never judge her less-than-popular opinions about soulmates. After all, that was half of the reason they worked—whatever it was they were doing. Best friends. Great sex. No concerns about being “the one” when Olivia had some generic name scrawled across her ribs and Cat had, at around age 13, given up on ever finding a name inked somewhere on her body. She’d told herself it didn’t matter. Her parents had been soulmates, but she didn’t see anything redeeming in her mother, and she’d sooner jump out a window than deal with somebody like that, even if their name was right there on her arm.

“Hey, you okay?”

Olivia’s quiet voice broke Cat out of her musings, and she forced herself to nod. “Just thinking about that entrepreneurship grant. And how it’s always gone to one of the Harvard boys. I’d say it’s about time for us Radcliffe girls to get a fair shot at it, don’t you think?”

A heated kiss came as the first answer. “Do you know”—another kiss—“how attractive”—her lips dropped to Cat’s neck—“your ambition is?”

And then there wasn’t much more talking.

But the next morning over coffee Cat was all business. She’d been scribbling away in a little notebook before Olivia even woke up, and she’d barely put her pen down long enough to add a splash of milk to her coffee before settling into their favorite booth—the one tucked away in the corner right next to the radiator for those cold winter mornings.

“Do I get to know what’s in that notebook, or is it something I’ll need to tell the police I never saw?” Olivia finally joked, tapping Cat’s shin with her foot.

“Very funny. That grant app is due on Friday, and I refuse to be underprepared.”

“So how can I help?”

Cat’s eyes snapped up. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh I don’t know. You’ve got law school apps and a pile of final papers all due this week. Any of that ringing a bell?”

“And knowing you, you’ve already got 90% of the work done for this proposal.”

“Not that much…yet.”

Olivia grinned over at her. “So give me your elevator pitch.”

After a flash of panic—now? already? she’d barely had the idea for half a day!—Cat cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “‘You just have to keep looking. Your soulmate’s out there somewhere.’ How many times have we all heard that line? But for a system we’ve invested our dreams and faith in, the odds of actually finding one’s soulmate are surprisingly low. What if there were a way to dramatically improve those odds? To filter through the millions of potential matches and lure in only those closest to being your perfect match? That’s where Lighthouse can help. Through an online subscription service, we collect information about your soulmate mark and, using an advanced computing function”—she grimaced, knowing the technical jargon still needed to be refined—“we generate a list of potential matches. And thanks to built-in safety protocols, there’s no need to worry about being lied to or led on. You can sit back, relax, and watch your soulmate come to you.”

Olivia sat, nodding her head slowly for a few moments that felt like an eternity to Cat, before quietly clapping her hands. “I can see a few ways to tighten it up, but I think you’ve got a good chance at getting that grant. Great idea. Good pitch. Adorable pitcher.”

Cat rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite hide the hint of a smile curling up her lips. “Well then let’s get to work. First things first: I hear there’s some kind of computer whiz on the second floor of our dorm who’s been rather desperate to find the Tara whose name is tattooed across her hip. Bet we could get her to help, don’t you think?”

\----

 **Soulmates on the ’Net?  
Radcliffe Graduate Launches Electronic Matchmaking Service **  
By Lois Lane

Catherine “Cat” Grant, alumna of Radcliffe College, Metropolis native, and recipient of the Barrett Downings Grant for Young Entrepreneurs, shook the tech world this past week with the launch of Lighthouse, a new matchmaking service that collects user data to generate a list of potential soulmates. The tagline, “Love with the click of a mouse,” has attracted subscribers at an unprecedented rate, even as others remain skeptical.

“I can’t count the number of people I’ve talked to who’d given up on ever finding their soulmates,” Grant says in a one-on-one exclusive interview with the _Planet_. “What do we get? A first name. No last name, no location, no occupation—nothing!” Grant credits a late-night chat with a college friend whose soulmate has the misfortune of a rather popular name, Michael, with the idea. “She wasn’t opposed to the idea of soulmates, but what hope did she have in finding her Michael out of a sea of Michaels?” And from that germ of an idea sprung Lighthouse. The service, as Grant explains it, narrows down those numbers, providing users with a list of potential matches based on the data they input, then allowing them to chat on-line before having to share identifiable information—a safety feature Grant is quick to emphasize.

When asked about how exactly the process works, Grant turned taciturn. “Well, there are the obvious factors. Name, soulmate name, date of birth, date of the mark’s arrival. A systematic solution to a vexing, age-old problem.” She concedes that the services will require a certain level of market saturation, but if the dismissive little wave she gave me and the early investor reports are to be believed, getting people on board hasn’t been much of a challenge. “Who doesn’t want to meet their soulmate?” Whether Grant herself plans to use the service—or already has—remains to be seen.

Not everyone is ready to spill their soulmate secrets on the Internet just yet, though. Jacqueline Myles, 32, won’t be among Lighthouse’s subscribers. “I was one of those people who ended up with a pretty visible mark.” She gestures to her wrist, although the mark is covered by a thick watchband. “I remember my mother telling me about how the mystery is part of the appeal, which is when she gave me my first watch. Ever since then, I’ve been careful to keep it covered. The idea of putting all that into my computer?” She shakes her head. “Where’s the magic in that?”

Whether Grant’s service will revolutionize that most romanticized process of soulmate matchmaking remains to be seen, but you can bet that we’ll be watching.

\---

**Lighthouse CEO Celebrates User Number One Million…But Not With Her Soulmate**

Cat Grant, 30, founder and CEO of celebrated soulmate matchmaking service Lighthouse, was spotted in downtown Metropolis at Très, the hottest new club, celebrating this unprecedented milestone with nary a soulmate in sight. The media savvy CEO has been notoriously tight-lipped about her own soulmate, and reports of users having matched with her on Lighthouse have remain unsubstantiated. Not that the lack of a future Mr. Grant has slowed her down. An inside source reported that Cat could be found sneaking out the back exit with an up-and-coming Hollywood hunk whose arm _definitely_ didn’t say “Catherine.” Will this be a one-and-done or a sizzling romance set to defy soulmate standards? Either way, we’re here to find out!

\---

**Bye, Bye, Mr. Grant!**

In an ironic twist, Cat Grant’s husband of five months—or should we say ex-husband—has announced that he’s divorcing Grant, 33, founder and CEO of Lighthouse, after having found his soulmate on, you guessed it, Lighthouse! Will Lighthouse be adding new questions about marital status to that famous questionnaire? We wouldn’t be surprised…

\---

Scowling down at her hip, Cat inspected the small, curling script that had appeared in a flash of heat overnight. “Kara.” One name. Thirty-some years too late. Either the universe had royally screwed up and given her someone who Cat could never consider an equal, the true partner she’d once (when she was very, very young) dreamed about, or she was the second soulmate to some woman who’d already lived through tragedy and would never see her as anything more than second-best. Either way, she wasn’t interested. The universe could go fuck itself.

\---

**Legend of Love: An Interview With Cat Grant**

Three months after relocating to National City, the newest base of operations for the international matchmaking service, Lighthouse, Cat Grant agreed to sit down with _Cosmo_ for an interview on life, love, and what it’s like to be a living legend.

 **Jenny Howell:** Cat Grant, it is so great to have you here!

 **Cat Grant:** Well, after months of being hounding with interview requests, I figured this could be my good deed for the year [laughs].

 **JH:** So tell us: how are you liking National City?

 **CG:** I’m certainly not going to complain about the sunshine. The offices are still undergoing renovations, but let’s just say National City will know who’s come to town soon enough.

 **JH:** I have to ask, what prompted the move? Last we heard, Cat Grant was a Metropolis loyalist.

 **CG:** Things change. People change. Situations change. We all need to know how to adapt.

 **JH:** And rumors of a certain Hollywood starlet…do they have anything to do with it? Might we be seeing the start of a second go at marriage?

 **CG:** Not unless someone here is hiding with an engagement ring that I don’t know about.

 **JH:** So no new love to speak of?

 **CG:** Who has time to find love when you’re so busy making it happen for millions of happy customers?

 **JH:** That’s true devotion to your work! With thousands and thousands of matches and glowing testimonials, I’m not surprised. You’ve admitted in the past that you don’t use your own services, but don’t you ever wonder? With all that information at your fingertips, how can you resist?

 **CG:** There’s something to be said for keeping that line between the personal and the professional, even if my professional realm happens to include almost everyone else’s personal worlds. You won’t find me clinging to old regrets.

 **JH:** I wish I could say the same, but I have to admit that I’ve been spending more than a little time on Lighthouse myself recently.

 **CG:** Oh? Any suitors on the horizon?

 **JH:** Maybe… I wouldn’t want to kiss and tell, but let’s just say that one of the dates went well enough to warrant a second.

 **CG:** That glow in your eyes—that’s what Lighthouse is all about. No more sitting around waiting for fate to come and make things happen. It’s the twenty-first century now; it’s about time we took matters into our own hands.

 **JH:** Now there’s a good line for all the mothers wanting to know when their children will go on and find their soulmates already! It’s been a real pleasure having you here, Cat.

\---

**Cat Grant: CEO and…Mommy To Be?**

Cat Grant, CEO and founder of Lighthouse, was spotted cradling a noticeable baby bump outside a new smoothie shop in downtown National City this past weekend. Inside sources close to Grant have confirmed that the notoriously temperamental woman has been skipping social events and turning down drinks for the past few months. With one divorce in the not so distant past and no new suitors on the horizon, will Grant finally turn to her own soulmate service to find her child a proper father?

\---

**A New Matchmaking App for a New Generation**

After years of market dominance, Lighthouse took a hit this past week as its stocks dropped 12 points. The cause? A new matchmaking app geared towards a new generation and a new way of finding love. Prism, the brainchild of Kara Danvers, 25, deviates from the formula once perfected by Lighthouse. Although users have the option to include information about their soulmate-identifying mark and search by those details, they’ve taken a backseat to questions about aspirations and personality traits. “The idea of soulmates is _amazing_ ,” Danvers gushed in a phone interview, “but in reality, those things don’t always work out. Or maybe they could have, but you’ve built it up so much that you’ve put too much pressure on a new relationship for things to ever work out naturally.”

In one test run with the app, we were able to search by location, by self-described relationship styles, and by some of the old standbys like soulmate name and age range. For users looking to include multiple factors, there are options to weight the various search terms by relative importance, and reviewers have praised the app for its ease of use. Danvers credits the easy navigability of the search function to the tech genius of long-time best friend Winn Schott, Jr., 28.

When asked why she found the time right for a new app, Danvers grew more serious. “I think Lighthouse was groundbreaking, and for a lot of people, that’s still the right way to go. But there are safety concerns, you know? Things we didn’t talk about as much when Lighthouse was launched [in 1994]. There are users who might not want to include the name they were assigned at birth. Or interplanetary immigrants who don’t know how to convert the dating of their birth on their home planets with the Earth calendar.” Even beyond these issues, Danvers has kicked off a conversation we don’t often like to have: what about soulmates who just don’t work? We’ve all heard about people whose soulmates die and find new names appearing on their arms at 60, 70, even 80 years old. But there are people who find themselves with soulmates in prison. With soulmates who want something dramatically different out of life. Sometimes with soulmates who they plain old don’t like. And this app lets them search with new parameters without worrying that a little lie-by-omission will ruin someone else’s chance at “real” happiness.

When asked for a comment on Prism, Cat Grant did not personally respond, though a spokesperson from Lighthouse did reply with a statement about the value Lighthouse has long placed on its users’ safety and the measures they have taken over the years to ensure it.

\---

“Is someone going to tell me how in the _hell_ I became the old-fashioned one?” Cat practically growled, prowling up and down in front of a row of Lighthouse staffers, all of whom shied away from the anger emanating off her in waves.

Snapper was the first one to square his shoulders and hold her gaze without the slightest flinch. “You’ve had a near-monopoly on the market for years, Cat. It was inevitable that someone would challenge you eventually.” He shrugged. “She’s some little blonde millennial. Better her than a real competitor.”

Cat had long admired Snapper’s refusal to be cowed in the face of her mercurial moods, and he was a damn hard worker to boot, even if his underlings didn’t always appreciate his management style, but this time he was dead wrong. “Our stock took a nosedive overnight, and she has investors lining up down the block.” Cat shook her head, blonde curls bouncing slightly with the movement. “This is no repeat of the Cupid’s Match debacle from ’07.”

A few employees tittered, all of them thinking back to the glitzy launch and nearly instantaneous crash of the competing site.

Cat tapped the arm of her glasses against her lips. “Chelsea, get me numbers on the user demographics for Prism. Jerome, I want talking points to counter the arguments about safety and innovation. And, Snapper, since you were so quick to dismiss her for being young and blonde”—a muscle twitched in Cat’s jaw—“your job is to find me every single thing there is to know about Kara Danvers.” For a moment, they all stood frozen until Cat flicked her wrist in the direction of the door. “Go on. Chop, chop.”

\---

“Kara!” Winn yelled, spinning around in his desk chair and gesturing wildly at the computer screen. “Kara, you’ve gotta see this!”

A moment later, Kara poked her head out from behind her own computer monitor. “What’s up?”

“Look at these numbers!”

Making her way around the handful of desks and the stack of empty pizza boxes, Kara leaned forward, scanning the report Winn had just run. Her eyes widened. “This is all from week one?”

“I told you this was an amazing idea.”

Kara could only manage a mute nod.

“Can I say yes to your appearance on that talk show now?” James asked.

“I—I don’t know. I guess?”

“This is safe publicity,” James insisted. “You’re there as the founder and CEO of an amazing app that’s revolutionizing the market.”

Kara snorted. “And if they ask me about my idea? What do I say? Well, I wasn’t sure how to explain that my soulmate has maybe had a mark for the 12 years I’ve been on this planet. Or the 49 years since I was born. Or something else entirely because Krypton and the Phantom Zone don’t exactly line up with earthly measurements of time?”

Winn crossed his arms. “It wasn’t all about you, and you know it. You cared about the people that didn’t feel safe or comfortable using Lighthouse. You’re not the only alien on our app, and you know it.”

“I guess…”

“And what about me?” Winn added. “I don’t want to go and use the name I was born with and have to immediately go into the, ‘Yeah, your arm says this one name, and I had to enter it to get access to this service, but actually deadnaming fucking sucks.’”

Nodding heartily, James gestured at the papers strewn all across his desk. “You’ve got all sorts of testimonials here that prove this wasn’t some selfish thing.”

Kara took a deep breath, her eyes trained on her hands as she rubbed at one of her knuckles. “But it was. Or it was a little selfish. I mean, I do want to find my soulmate.”

Winn leveled her with a glare that wasn’t even a little intimidating—not with a superhero collectable figure clutched in one hand and a little bit of Choco dust still stuck on his lower lip. “Your best friend—me, duh—could have just hacked into Lighthouse and found you any Catherines with soulmates named Kara. Instead you invented this app that can help a whole lot of people.”

“So,” James chimed in, “are we good to schedule you on The Talk this Friday?”

With a loud sigh, Kara sank back down to her desk chair. “I don’t think you’ll let me say no.”

\---

Everyone in the Lighthouse offices knew Cat was not to be disturbed on Friday morning. They practically crept past the glass walls of her office during the hour The Talk aired.

Cat scowled up at the fresh-faced young woman on the screen, listening as the four hosts heaped praise upon Kara—as if they hadn’t all been clamoring at Cat, asking for her personalized services to find their own soulmates back when they had her on the show. Every other sentence was “Kara this” and “Kara that,” and Cat longed to rub away the damn soulmate mark taunting her—the reminder of some child or lonely widow out there, wearing the name of a Catherine they would never know or deserve. But to itch at it would be to risk smearing away the careful layers of foundation she applied each morning, ensuring that no ill-fated marks marred her pristine skin.

Worst of all was how _bubbly_ the woman became when they asked her about her own love life. Cat knew better than to answer those questions, to confuse business and pleasure. But there she was, talking about how even though she designed an app that facilitated matches outside the preordained soulbonds, she herself was still a bit of an old-school romantic who longed to meet her soulmate one day.

“Tell us: if you’re so invested in finding your soulmate, did you ever try Lighthouse?” Sharon pressed.

But Kara blushed and shook her head. “It, uh, seemed a little too intimidating for me. Maybe one day I’ll work up the nerve to try Prism,” she added with a laugh.

As they thanked Kara for being with them, Cat quickly powered off the screen.

“Shawna,” Cat called out, watching as Siobhan practically tripped into her office, looking slightly hurt at the return to the name Cat had used during her first two weeks until she’d proven herself. “Latte. Double shot. Scalding.”

“Yes, Ms. Grant.” And then she was gone again, and Cat was left alone with her thoughts.

\---

As Cat flipped through the newspaper one Monday morning, she spotted a name that had been relatively scarce in recent months: Kara Danvers. After a year of more press than she’d needed to do since the launch of Lighthouse, Cat felt as if things were finally settling into an uneasy truce, the market having been divided as each service took up its own niche. She loathed the fact that she was suddenly touted as the site for an “older clientele,” but at least she had the market demographic with the most disposable income. Even if it made her want to throw things each time she saw her own name in a sentence with “older women.”

Pulling on her glasses, Cat honed in on a small item on the gossip page she normally skipped right over unless they had printed something about her that would require handling.

“Kara Danvers, Prism Founder and CEO, Spotted Leaving National City’s Newest Gay Club!” Beneath the headline was a photo of the woman dressed in a much more revealing dress than the overly bright sundresses she normally favored. A small blurb was printed beneath the picture speculating on the woman’s sexuality, but what caught Cat’s eye was the zoomed-in shot they’d included of the back of Kara’s neck, where a portion of what they thought might be her soulmate mark was visible. It was beyond invasive and totally inappropriate, but Cat’s heart stuttered at what was, to her, very obviously the visible top half of a C, t, h, and i. Not that it could refer to _her_. Unless Kara’s intended soulmate had died quite young… Or she was one of those aliens she’d designed an entire app for…

Cat told herself it was only the righteous indignation over that blatant violation of a woman’s privacy that led her to tweet a sharply worded condemnation of Page Six’s actions to her millions of followers, who proceeded to spend the afternoon tweeting up a storm about the sanctity of soulbonds on Cat’s behalf.

The next morning, a small bouquet of campanula flowers, according to the included “care instructions,” arrived at Cat’s desk, along with a small note that read simply: “Thank you, Cat. -K.”

A quick search revealed that the flowers represented gratitude. As well as everlasting love. Cat suspected it was likely a thank you for the tweet and not a declaration of undying affection. Not that she hadn’t been known to inspire it, even among those who had yet to meet her in person.

On a whim, she sent a note back to Prism’s registered address, which appeared to be a single apartment in a mediocre neighborhood. She shook her head. Millennials.

_Kara,_

_Thank you for the flowers. A word of advice: the less you give the press to work with, the better off you’ll be. This includes interview settings._

_-Cat_

\---

“Seriously, what does this mean?” Kara groaned, thrusting the now well-worn card into Winn’s hands. “Is it a threat?”

He shrugged and passed it back to her. “Friendly advice that isn’t super friendly? I don’t know, you’re her competitor; she’s probably just trying to throw you off your game.”

James came up from behind Winn and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “You know I love you, but you’re both missing the point. Cat stuck her own neck out on the line to speak up for Kara when Page Six printed those photos. No one ever did that for her, even though they’ve printed some really horrible things about her over the years. Let that sink in.”

Winn’s eyebrows shot up. “Maybe she has a crush on you!”

“I’ve never even met her!”

With a loud laugh, James pressed a kiss to Winn’s cheek. “Maybe you stick to the algorithms.”

Grumbling under her breath about being no closer to an answer Kara shuffled back to her desk, tapping her pen against it until she noticed that she’d begun denting the wood.

She pulled out a pad of paper and began drafting a response. Only to throw it away. Then again. And again. And again. Until she had a whole heap of awful replies in her recycling bin and one letter that might be terrible, but was possibly less terrible than the rest sealed in an envelope.

Scanning through the envelope, which she knew was kind of cheating, Kara reread what she’d written.

_Dear Cat,_

_Thanks for the advice! I’m so lucky to have some like you who’s been through it looking out for me, even though you don’t have to. I never really thought Prism would blow up the way it has, and it’s been…overwhelming at times. If you have time to meet and talk, I’d love to hear about what it was like for you founding Lighthouse fresh out of college. I’d be happy to treat you to coffee—I think you once said in an interview that you were fond of Noonan’s?_

_Best,  
Kara_

Before she could second guess herself, she ran downstairs to the mailbox, dropped her letter in, and decided she wouldn’t think about it for the rest of the day.

\---

Cat watched as Kara jotted down every word she said in her tiny Moleskin notebook, eagerly looking up every line or so to smile and nod at Cat or interject with another question or murmur of assent when the conversation called for it. It was, all in all, far less taxing than most business meetings Cat went on. Perhaps even enjoyable.

As Kara ducked back down to capture another pearl of wisdom, Cat seized her opportunity to throw the woman a little. “Why create this little app of yours?”

Kara’s lips silently shaped the word, “why,” as her pen scratched across the paper, but then she looked up, blinking at Cat from behind thick-rimmed glasses. “What?”

“I hear the lines you feed to the press—and you shouldn’t give them any more than that—but I’m asking you, Kara Danvers, why you? Why that moment?”

“I, uh, I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“I don’t see how Carter is relevant to this conversation, but you asked about him, did you not?”

“Because—because it’s polite!” Kara spluttered.

“And now I’m the one making polite, personal conversation. So?”

Taking a deep breath, Kara placed her notebook down on the table. “Honestly? I’d had the idea for a while—since college, I think—but it wasn’t until later that it started feeling…urgent. I know it’s stupid—”

“Don’t dismiss yourself like that,” Cat chastised, her gaze sharp. “There are dozens of men who will do the work of belittling you and your ideas for you. Don’t help them.”

“Um, right.” Kara swallowed and continued. “Well, I’d been on a string of really awful dates, and I’d seen some of my friends go through some bad experiences trying to do the soulmate thing, and so…I don’t know. It felt important. Like it was a way to help people.”

“Better. So these friends of yours…lots of aliens in that group?”

Kara gave an exaggerated snort, as her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink. “Aliens? Real? I mean, Cat…”

Cat’s brow furrowed as she shot Kara an incredulous look. “Superman is on the news quite literally every day.”

“Right, um, yeah. It was a—a joke.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah, I, uh, know a few people who…aren’t from around here. And other people who didn’t know what name would show up on their soulmate. And I—I’d heard stories about people who’s soulmates weren’t good people. Not just in the, like, oh he doesn’t put away the dishes kind of thing, but really mean people.”

Forcing away memories of the news stories Cat had seen about people staying with abusive soulmates for far too long simply because they thought they must be broken if they couldn’t make things work with a universe-ordained match, Cat nodded and motioned for Kara to continue.

“But there were also people who didn’t like all the pressure of soulmates. Or people who’d found their soulmates but were still in love with someone else. Or who had perfectly fine soulmates but who seemed better as friends than anything else.”

“Well, it certainly seems as if you’ve found a large market of people ready for you app.”

“I could never have done it without Lighthouse already out there, though.”

“No one is suggesting you could have.” Impossibly, Cat swore she saw Kara smile at that. “Still, you’ve done better than I would have expected.” Hoped, really.

“Thank you.” A beat. “Can I ask you why you founded Lighthouse?”

“Money,” Cat deadpanned, and Kara’s loud laugh quickly died in her throat.

“Oh.”

After a moment, Cat rolled her eyes. “It seemed like a way to equal the playing field. You bought in, but everyone bought in at the same level. And it made plenty of people very happy. And me very wealthy.”

Kara nodded, looking pleased again. “No personal connections for you?”

Cat’s eyes narrowed. “What was the first piece of advice I gave you?”

“I’m not the press.”

“How can I be certain?”

A flicker of hurt flashed over Kara’s features, and Cat thought they were done for the day. But then Kara’s spine stiffened, her shoulders squaring as she turned to look at Cat head on. “You never talk to the press about Carter, but you answered my questions.”

 _Hmm, bright. Pity she was the competition_. “Perhaps we’ll save talk of our own soulmates for the third coffee, hmm?” And with that, Cat rose to her feet, grabbed her empty cup, and swept out of Noonan’s.

\---

Over the next several months, Cat and Kara developed something of a friendship, although talk of soulmates never resurfaced again. Kara learned that the further away they got from the heart of the work, the more talkative Cat became. And, snarky as she could be, Kara counted herself lucky to be able to catch glimpses of something else there, too. There was the obvious love for Carter. There was the genuine enjoyment Cat took in a properly made latte or a perfectly prepared dish—something Kara could understand. There were sparks of amusement. Flickers of fear and pain that were rarely glimpsed. Even moments that Kara thought might be pride when Cat noticed Kara following her advice or making a smart business call—competition or not.

Once Cat realized how much Kara _enjoyed_ eating, she brought Kara to expensive restaurants she could now afford but would never have chosen on her own. (Of course, Cat still treated, no matter how often Kara offered to pay her share.) And she invited Kara to the ballet and the opera, where they sat ensconced in plushy box seats some of Cat’s wealthy clients had gifted her after finding their soulmates on Lighthouse. Kara was fairly certain the shows were all amazing and ones she would have chosen on her own, but it was hard to focus when Cat’s fingertips sometimes grazed against her arm or when Cat's lips were suddenly at Kara’s ear, whispering commentary and questions Kara never remembered answering coherently.

In turn, Kara took Cat to the movies and pop up exhibits across town, including one very memorable Sunday where she took both Cat and Carter to at an invite-only tour of the newest dinosaur exhibit at the science museum. Since Cat never let her pay at the Michelin star restaurants they frequented, Kara decided to introduce Cat to the best hidden gems in National City, which Cat enjoyed at least some of the time, even though every single time she wondered loudly about her odds of contracting some food-borne illness or other.

They managed to make it three whole months into their friendship before some lesser known tabloid printed a photo of the two of them tucked into a corner booth at _Joie_. Kara was terrified that somehow the reporter would have been able to spot her crush, which she’d once hoped would be nothing more than a momentary infatuation but had, tragically, developed into something far, far deeper. And the photo…well, it would be easy to misread that photo. Because Cat was smiling and touching Kara’s wrist, and Kara was beaming and blushing, and their table had candles and a bottle of wine on it. And the paparazzi could so easily turn that into the kind of thing Kara wished it were but knew better than to believe it might be.

Too anxious to even skim the blurb, Kara had insisted that Winn read it first. He’d laughed before tossing it her way. “Trust me, no one’s spotted your heart eyes. Or hers,” he added under his breath, earning a scowl from Kara, who was absolutely positive that there was nothing requited about her feelings for Cat.

Scanning the article, Kara nearly snorted. Apparently she looked “terrified” and was in the process of being intimidating into accepting a buyout by Lighthouse. Well, at least that one wasn’t even close to true. Though she did worry that their burgeoning friendship might be placed under the kind of close scrutiny she didn’t want—not when her gaze all too often drifted to inappropriate locations and the back of her neck read Catherine in dark, accusing script. Not that it was Cat. She didn’t dare hope. After all, Cat had never spoken about her soulmate, and there were rumors that she didn’t have one at all.

Shaking her head, Kara told herself that it wouldn’t do to dwell on unlikely possibilities. She just needed to keep a low profile in the press.

That plan quite literally flew out the window a week later.

Because Kara had been out on what she thought Oliver might have mistaken for a date—it wasn’t, not in her books—when she caught sight of the breaking news alert about a plane experiencing engine failure. A plane to Geneva. A plane carrying her sister.

She was out in the alleyway in an instant.

And it didn’t matter that she’d been told her whole life not to show her powers to the world.

It didn’t matter that she barely remembered how to fly after so many years of not risking it after everything with Jeremiah.

It didn’t matter that Alex had been one of the people most adamant about ensuring Kara kept a low profile, kept safe, kept unnoticed.

After three false starts, she was in the sky, speeding towards the smoking plane. A burst of exhilaration hit her as her body collided with debris, coming out utterly unscathed. This— _this_ , more than anything else—was what she’d been sent here to do.

Not that it made her landing particularly neat. But she’d done it. And Alex was safe and looking out the window at Kara, mouthing a silent, “Thank you,” at her before motioning for her to flee.

The next morning, after an emotional night spent reassuring Alex and fighting with Alex and hugging Alex close to her, Kara woke up to her sister dropping a newspaper on her. “They got a picture of you.”

“Please don’t yell at me. Not again.” Kara’s voice was rough—apparently inhaling that much smoke could affect even her.

“I didn’t mean…” Alex ran a hand through her hair, which only served to mess it up even more. “I worry. You have to know that I’m terrified, right?”

“But you’re alive, Alex. Don’t you get that that matters more than anything?”

Swiping roughly at her eyes, Alex nodded. “I, um, there are things you should know. About me. My work. My life.”

Kara wondered if she was going to find out why Alex had been growing increasingly distant since moving to National City.

She wasn’t prepared for the truth. At all.

But Alex didn’t insist that Kara come in, even though she’d already told Kara that was her job. Instead, she was handing her a business card for some Science Division detective, insisting that this woman would help her.

Kara looked at the name. Then back at Alex. “She’s your—”

Holding up a hand, Alex nodded. “Yeah. But that’s not the point right now. She’s been helping me think about certain things. Helping me push my boss, and, honestly? It’s kind of been working. I don’t know. Hank seems…receptive? But still, I want you to have an ally that isn’t me. She can help keep you safe.”

“Um, okay.”

And so the next few days turned into a whirlwind tour of an alien bar that stood, unmarked, in the outskirts of National City. A training facility staffed by aliens who had powers she’d never dreamed about. The downtown facilities of the DEO, where she strode in with her sister on one side and Maggie on the other, a list of demands at the ready if they wanted her to help them. And Winn’s apartment, as he pulled out outfit after outfit that he’d apparently been thinking about ever since finding out who she was related to a year into their friendship.

Then there was Supergirl.

Should have been Superwoman, Kara had grumbled, but at least Alex and Maggie and Winn and James and even Hank, who seemed almost…proud of her, had made sure she went out fully stocked with a functional comm system that could weather the elements and a few basic training lessons under her belt.

It was only a matter of days before tabloids were speculating about whether Supergirl had a soulmate and Cat Grant was on air offering a free subscription to Lighthouse for the Girl of Steel. Figuring she should keep up with the conversation, Kara tweeted something about Prism being happy to welcome another alien immigrant to Earth and thanking her for her service to National City.

After two weeks of running herself ragged as she tried to find a balance between Supergirl duties and Prism and the relationship she was trying to repair and rebuild with Alex and now Maggie, Kara received a text from Cat: “Drinks tonight?”

\---

Pacing back and forth in her office, Cat tried to summon an image of the woman she’d spent countless hours getting to know over coffee and drinks and meals and shows and even afternoons spent with her son. Gone was the caricature of some millennial determined to write Cat off as old and out of touch; over the months she’d been fleshed out into someone with a history, with nuance and depth that Cat had, in her weaker moments, admitted to herself she found more than a little attractive. She’d found herself daydreaming about soft skin and blue eyes and a smile that seemed more genuine than anything Cat had seen in the past decade. Yet her mind tripped and stuttered over the particulars of Kara’s face whenever she tried to conjure it up to compare to the grainy, blurry photos of Supergirl that were being plastered everywhere.

It wasn’t as if Cat had never considered the idea that Kara might be an alien; after all, she made a dating app that centered aliens as a key demographic. But for her to be Supergirl… Well, perhaps that was just wishful thinking. They’d only seen each other once since Supergirl’s debut, and Kara had fed her some line about being sick and apologized for the long silence. Perhaps Cat was grasping at straws, trying to force connections where there were none. Still, they were due to meet for dinner that night, and Cat was determined not to let Kara dismiss all talk of Supergirl so easily this time around.

Siobhan knocked once on the door before striding in, pulling Cat out of her thoughts. “Ms. Grant, I have your latte and the paper.” A pause. “I think you’ll be interested in the front-page story.”

Trying for nonchalant, Cat picked up the paper and flipped it open. And there—there in the first high-definition photo captured of her—was the woman who’d sat across from Cat and told her about a foster sister she adored and a ragtag group of best friends who still hadn’t killed each other despite working in a single room together. Only she wasn’t in some pastel cardigan. No, she was clad in Supergirl’s red and blue.

“Cancel my morning. I’m not to be disturbed,” she snapped at Siobhan before sinking into her seat with the paper.

An interview accompanied the photo, and Cat read of a woman sent from a dying planet. A woman who, if Cat’s math was right, would have arrived right around the time Cat finally got her own soulmate mark. She followed along as Supergirl spun a story that seemed to follow every little piece of advice Cat had given to Kara over their meetings. Revealing enough but not too much. Spinning the story on her own terms without giving the reporter something to run off with. Cat forced herself to breathe. To be rational. Anyone with even a smidgen of experience in PR could have given Supergirl that advice.

But at dinner that night, Kara knocked over an entire glass of water when Cat casually mentioned Supergirl. And her story about being sick morphed into a story about a busy week full of investor meetings. And Supergirl had put out a massive fire that afternoon, and Kara smelled of ash and smoke.

Well, that was that.

Only later that night, after watching as Kara made some excuse to duck out of dinner early, claiming a bout of illness mere moments before Supergirl appeared on scene of an attempted robbery across town, Cat remembered the first tabloid photo of Kara Danvers. Remembered the soulmark that everyone had speculated about. Glanced at her own. _Kara_.

She spent hours that night coming up with a plan. Because it couldn’t be easy—not when she’d have to admit that it was Supergirl’s emergence on the scene that convinced her. Because then Kara might think that Cat only wanted her as Supergirl. But if she lied about her mark, then, at best, they’d start off…whatever they might become with a lie, or, worse, Kara would insist that it couldn’t be her, and they’d never become anything at all. Because alien or not, Kara _liked_ the idea of her soulmate. Liked the idea of having someone that connected her to something bigger than herself, that gave her a way to fit someplace—and, oh, didn’t that take on new meanings now that Cat knew a bit more about her. 

So a well-crafted plan it had to be.

\---

Kara tried to keep her mouth in a shape approximating what a human smile looked like. She didn’t think it was working, though Cat had yet to call her on it.

“I assume I don’t need to remind you about confidentiality, hmm?”

Kara blinked. Nodded. “Right, yeah. No. I mean, no reminders needed.” She forced herself to focus on Cat. “But you know…people will be able to search for you on Prism.”

“Not by the name Cat Grant they won’t.”

Kara nodded her head in acknowledgment. That was true enough. She had her own profile there—not that she really used it, save for the one night Alex had scrolled through and liked a handful of people on her behalf.

“You’ll help?” Cat arched an eyebrow in question. “I won’t have half the internet laughing at me for missing some crucial setting that you’ve hidden in menus beneath menus.”

Unable to even summon up a bit of righteous indignation on behalf of her app, which had been given a 10/10 in ease of use by CNet, Kara merely nodded again.

“Wonderful,” Cat practically purred, and Kara’s mouth went dry. “After dinner you’ll ride home with me. It wouldn’t do for the CEO of Lighthouse to be spotted out in public setting up a Prism profile.”

“Sure,” Kara squeaked. Of course the first time she’d get to see Cat’s apartment would be while she was building her a profile on Prism. So that Cat could date other people. And maybe find her soulmate. Who Cat was pretty sure was an alien.

By the time they made it back to Cat’s, Kara had resigned herself to her fate: life as a matchmaker, watching as others paired up and settled down while she pined away.

“So, um, first you’ll want to pick a profile photo.”

“Mm, before that, wine?”

“Uh, sure. Thanks.” Kara tried to keep her eyes on the screen, but it was so hard when Cat was toeing off her heels and padding across plush carpet, looking at once incredibly gorgeous and delightfully domestic.

Once they had their wine and Cat had settled herself close enough that Kara could feel her own heart pounding in her chest—and hear Cat’s heart going a bit too fast, though that would be from the espresso she’d had at the end of dinner—Kara tapped at Cat’s phone again. “So…photo.”

“Yes, I gave that some thought.” A moment later, she’d selected a photo of herself that Kara had taken on a whim several weeks earlier. She was facing away from the camera—decent deniability, she’d insisted—but a darkened outline of her profile was visible, and her head was tipped back slightly, having been captured mid-laugh as she looked out across the skyline. Kara thought she looked beautiful. The kind of photo that showed her as she really was, not as she always presented herself to the press.

“And, um, you can add more if you want.”

“Not now.”

“Right. Next up would be some biographical information about yourself. It’s optional, but you can put in things like your birthday, gender, pronouns, sexual orientation, soulmate name, date of your soulmate mark’s arrival—things like that.”

Cat filled in a handful, though she left most of them blank, murmuring something about coming back to them later.

Kara couldn’t help but notice that she’d left all of her soulmate’s information blank, despite claiming that she only wanted to use Prism because she thought her soulmate was an alien. Well, Kara supposed, after staying silent on the topic for 40-some years, certain habits were probably hard to break.

“Then, since we want to foreground personality and relationship style and priorities in life, we offer a whole series of questions you can answer.”

Kara watched as Cat answered several of the questions. She mentioned having a child who meant the world to her and brokered no arguments in insisting that her partner would need to be accommodating of her roles as mother and CEO. Words like ambitious, quick, and clever soon filled the personality box. And then Kara listened as Cat listed out things like going to the theater and dining at “someplace unexpected” and spending time with her son doing things he’d like as her ideal dates. She watched as Cat typed out specifications about her future partner that seemed to line up perfectly with all the things Kara had, over the years, learned to value about herself. Except Cat apparently hadn’t seen them in her.

After a few more minutes of torture, Kara quickly took the phone, adjusted all the settings so that it would be nearly impossible for someone to find Cat without her having found and liked them first, Kara ducked out early with some excuse about a headache and needing a full night’s sleep before a big meeting the following morning.

But sleep came slowly to her that night, and when it did come it was punctuated by strange dreams that left Kara disoriented when she awoke.

Even Winn, who was normally nice enough not to comment on certain things, pointed out that she looked like shit when she got to their workspace. All day long, she resisted the urge to go searching through the backend of the app to find out exactly how active Cat had been on Prism in the 12 or so hours since she’d created an account.

Luckily, a Supergirl emergency kept her busy during evening rush hour, and by the time she got home with a bag of potstickers clutched under her arm, she was feeling a little bit better. Better enough to ignore her phone as she enjoyed her food, then took a long, hot shower, washing away any residual dirt and grime from the fight.

By the time she checked her phone, Kara was already curled up in bed, determined to get a decent night’s rest—even if she didn’t technically need it.

But her phone had a notification from Prism waiting for her, and curiosity won out as she swiped to unlock the phone.

“Cat has liked you.”

Kara blinked. Surely it was a different Cat.

Only it was the same profile picture.

The same answers.

The same woman.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Kara hit the heart icon back and practically threw her phone back down to the mattress, hiding it under the pillow and comforter so that she couldn’t see it. At least if she kept her glasses on.

But she could still feel it when it buzzed.

“Cat has sent you a message.”

With slightly trembling fingers, Kara opened the chat window.

“Fancy finding you here.”

Oh.

Oh.

It was a fun little surprise.

Nothing real.

Oh.

The disappointment was nearly crushing.

“Hey Cat!” Kara forced herself to type back. “Glad to see you’re figuring out how to use the app.”

“I have managed to survive in the twenty-first century for these two decades, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, save that wit for your real matches.” Kara swallowed down waves of jealousy.

“I am.” A moment later. “We matched, did we not?”

“Well…yeah. But you’re looking for someone special.”

“Is your app more complicated than you’ve suggested?”

“No!”

“Yet you seem confused about this childish heart icon I’ve been forced to push to talk to you.”

“But…it’s me. Kara.”

“I’m aware.”

“And you thought your soulmate was an alien.”

“Mhmm.”

“You wanted to find your soulmate, Cat.”

There was silence for several long minutes, and Kara told herself she could not cry. This was what she had wanted—to remind Cat of why she was really on Prism. She couldn’t handle waiting and watching as Cat slowly narrowed down her matches until she’d found the one. The one this curious planet had suggested would fit her better than anyone else.

It was fine. Either Cat wasn’t the Catherine on her neck, and Kara would have to learn to get over someone who now had a real opportunity at finding her soulmate, or Cat was her soulmate but clearly didn’t see Kara as any kind of real match.

Her phone buzzed again.

After a long minute spent warring over whether or not it was healthy to see what Cat had to say, Kara plucked up her phone, unlocked it, and nearly helped as she dropped it back down to the mattress.

Needing to know for sure, Kara scooped it back up and rubbed off her screen. But Cat’s photo was still there. The sharp jut of a hipbone. The smooth curve of a waist. The tiny, dark script curling around the letters: Kara.

Every message Kara tried to type sounded worse than the last—everything insignificant in the face of such a show of trust.

Eventually an idea came to her, and she sent back a photo of the back of her neck. “Catherine.”

Her phone buzzed. “I suspected as much.” Then, a moment later: “Even if it hadn’t said Catherine, I still clicked on the right person.”

Kara’s heart seemed to jump into triple-time at that declaration. “Really?”

“I don’t take most of my business associates to see Dido and Aeneas. Or treat them to dinner. Or allow them to invite my son out on trips.” As Kara began typing, another message came through. “Unless I’ve misread your interest?”

“No!” Screw the fear of sounding desperate; Kara wasn’t about to lose Cat because she was too confused to show her own interest. “Definitely, definitely interested. Just didn’t know I wasn’t the only one.”

“Oh I wasn’t sure for a while there. You were so invested in the idea of finding your soulmate. And how could I be the one when my own mark took over 30 years to appear? Who was I to interfere with the soulmate matches that seemed so important to you?”

Kara blinked down at her screen. “So…why say something now?”

“You tell me, Supergirl.”

**Author's Note:**

> For now this is a self-contained one-shot. One day I may come back and write a follow-up chapter with my thoughts about how things went from here for these two, but I'm currently dealing with family emergencies and am not up for writing fluff at the moment.
> 
> I'm sometimes on Twitter and Tumblr @sapphicscholar


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